The image of an artifice

The cold of these disappeared images sleeps. Stretch yourself the slow anguish of our lapses of memory. In the step making dizzy of a forever solidified time. Looking without seeing itself, nor to be able. To move beyond of a thought captive of the absence of blood in its arteries. Cry the cold of a death left all these bodies. Covered with clothes hiding their ravaged skins. Turned blue of cold, made feeble to be itself stale. In a pause that all opposes.To make accept the life. Whereas their reality became artificial. Cherish the cold of these hearts stiff. With the polished attitudes, the children wisely sitted. Wound the memory of those which lived in this place. Making believe that there remain nothing them. Just the factitious image of an artifice. Who does not have a talent of actress. Burn the cold to remain only in the black. With for only hope playing the game of the knowledge. To tell with alive false stories. Rich and happy people. Who do not even make envious.